


Drinking and Dancing

by littlecats



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Dancing, F/F, grabby hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecats/pseuds/littlecats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something about Rose. There's something about the way she moves, stepping like she's walking a tightrope, even as she sways in her drunkenness. Something about the way she looks at you, you can see darkness and light in her eyes struggling for control. She isn't all there sometimes, but then again, are you?</p><p> </p><p>AKA Pure sickly sweet Rosemary fluff. With some deeper shit mixed in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drinking and Dancing

"Rose, is this all necessary?" You ask, fingers cold and feet feeling heavy.  
"Of course it is so necessary!" she replies, louder and harsher than you have come to associate with her. She takes up your hands again, warming them with her brandy heated blood. "I will help you but you have to loosen up." She giggles happily, taking one hand away to pick up a bottle from the floor and offer it to you. "This'll help!" she slurs. 

"Rose, you know I will not partake in your human soporifics." 

"Aww Kayana-hic-Kanaya." She giggles and doubles over in laughter. You hang onto her hands, grounding her. You let your mind wander to about 8 days past, when she had waited until evening to have wine, and you had sat together in the perfection that was Roses truth. 

She pulls you towards her, letting her free hand set on your waist, jumping with another hiccup. 

"I can't dance." you tell her again. She just shakes her head and pulls you closer, swaying, at least slightly synced to the music. You relax into her, trying to feel Rose instead of feeling alcohol. It works as long as you are swaying. She is soft and warm and her hair smells sweet like a library, the scent of books clinging even through the burning scent of drink on her breath and clothes. You breathe it in and close your eyes. Hic! Rose jumps, jogging your head and startling you. 

"Sorry K."

"Rose, It would be appreciated if you would use my full name." you sigh. 

"Kanaya Maryammmmmm." 

"Thank you. I think that's enough dancing for today."

"No wait, I will show you how to spiiinnnn and dip Kaynaya! I promised." You sigh. There's a childish and beseeching look in her eyes that you can't ignore. You take her hands again and she nods. You spin, heavier on your feet than you should be, and land with your skirt swooshing around your ankles. She laughs and spins too, quick and unbalanced. You catch her hand as she returns to you, nearly falling. She keeps laughing and laughing, but you fail to find what's funny. 

"Are we done here, Rose?"

"C'mon I'm gonna dance one more thing" She takes you and spins you again. This time you barely notice until you come around to face her and she pushes you down, one arm around your back. You gasp as she bends at your back and tries to catch you. She doesn't and you hit the ground. It's not that bad of a fall, but enough to make you shout. Rose looks down, her violet eyes big and her lip trembling, and begins to cry, kneeling down next to you with tears falling from her face and landing on you. "I was only trying to do the dip thing." she sobs. You nod. Enough dancing. You rise and carry her, still crying, to bed.

"I'm sorry." She whispers.

"It's fine love."

You sit together for a while until she reaches again for a bottle. You look away as she drinks it, feeling your eyes sting with every sip she takes. She starts to laugh again, and claw at your clothes, petting a hand clumsily through your hair. You take her hand off of your shirt and she laughs and tries again, pulling at the fabric of your skirt. You shake your head so she takes off her own, stripping clumsily down to her underwear and rolling towards you. You take the opportunity to dress her in your own old tee shirt, hushing her attempts to grab at you, moving a hand that gets caught in your hair. She is a mess, tangled up in the blanket, resting with her head in your lap, and whispering something unintelligible. You pet her hair until she slowly falls asleep, then get up and change into a pair of shorts to sleep. They were hers, but she is seldom able to put them on at night, so you wear them instead. You move to lie down next to her, waking her slightly. She whispers something else and you glow softly, just enough light to move her over and pull the blanket over the two of you before you shut the light off. She is shivering a bit, and you wrap an arm around her gently, enclosing her hands in your own. You barely sleep that night. Every night the same, her desperation for protection is like a small child's, yet her drinking seeming to age her beyond her years. You drift off somewhere in the night, waking every once and a while to check that Rose remains curled against you. You dream once about dancing, but it's not you dancing with her, but a tall bottle of wine, which she dips without a single problem. You almost find it trivially amusing when you wake up, but it is too close for this comfort.  
When you wake up, you see her, sitting by a light on the desk, a glass of clear liquid in hand, her hair glowing with the yellow of the lamp. Sometimes you almost wonder why you stay, then you remember that she is the only way you can still see the sun. The last night seems far away when you see her turn and smile weakly. 

"Headache." She tells you. You rise and walk to her, picking up the glass and breathing it in. It smells like nothing. "It's just water, dear. I'm not drinking today, finding my more recent adventures in intoxication to be somewhat lacking." You smile at her and she smiles back, broader this time. 

"Thank you."

"Of course. I'm sorry for what transpired yesterday." She said, turning away. "I don't remember much, but I remember I dropped you, or pushed you, and I'm sorry."

"I fell," you lie. She squints at you, but doesn't challenge your statement. You sit beside her and watch her write, a rare pleasure. She turns letters and sculpts words like no one else. It's like a dance, though you suppose dancing is not something you're really keen on at the moment. 

The day is long. Rose's headache fades slowly, and she spends an hour or so in your arms, tired and longing for the release she had promised not to use, speaking quietly to you about her story. You listen attentively to a wide dynamic of some sort of human "Lovecraftian horror-esque semi-anthology story," petting her hair as she spins into the dark world of her imagination. You love her for it, and wonder if you fit somewhere into this obsession, or if perhaps you have become a separate interest. The two of you are content to sit there for a while, talking and laughing. It's good to have her back, with her human words and mannerisms that fascinate you with a vengeance.

For a while she talks to Dave, analytically cataloguing her conversation to meet the quota of catching up with someone, and you take the time to keep watch over Karkat, who paces but doesn't speak to you, even as you sit by him while you sew up a tear in Rose's shawl. 

By the time everyone else is winding down, in what has generally settled into evening, Rose is sitting back on the bed, waiting for you to finish the shawl, her eyes plastered open and staring at nothing. She hasn't had a drop of alcohol all day, and she is just as tired as you are proud. You finish the last stitch and go to sit next to her, holding the fixed garment up to her. She takes in and folds it over her shoulders, settling her yellow hood over it. The two of you sit there, genuinely together for the first time in way too long. Then she stands, silently, and takes your hands, leading you to the foot of the bed, switching on the gramophone on the way. Music plays and she guides you, softly swaying. You smile as she turns you and you feel light as air. As she dips you, you bend with her and she holds you, laughing sweetly before swinging you back up and kissing you lightly. You close your eyes and for once you don't taste alcohol on her lips. She's all there. Every part of Rose is with you, and you feel radiant. 

"You're brighter than the stars, Maryam," she whispers.

"That is a figure of speech, right?"

There's something about Rose. There's something about the way she moves, stepping like she's walking a tightrope, even as she sways in her drunkenness. Something about the way she looks at you, you can see darkness and light in her eyes struggling for control. She isn't all there sometimes, but then again, are you?

**Author's Note:**

> wow why is it so fluffy? idk? sorry?


End file.
